Home
by v2point0
Summary: TFA. To each other, they are home. Ultra Magnus/Rodimus Prime


A long, overdue fic for my end of a trade with **puffintalk**. I believe it was in exchange for a Hot Rod as Bender from _The Breakfast Club _pic. So, after eons of being uninspired to write TF fic, HERE IT IS.

it sucks i'm sorry

**Title**: Home  
><strong>Rating<strong>: G  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: I don't want to say "mild sexuality," since nothing is happening besides hand holding and caresses; so, uh, warning for GAAAAAY; blanket spoilers for TFA season 3  
><strong>Summary<strong>: "I'll be back." "To take me home?" "To take you home." TFA Ultra Magnus/Rodimus Prime.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: puffintalk wanted h/c Magnus and Rodimus, since each of them were nearly killed in-show. I think initially it was for them to BOTH be injured in the hospital, but I made it two different instances. Hope that's okay.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I own nothing.

* * *

><p>It was the first day in weeks that he had finally settled for sleep without forcefully disabling functions. Endless nights of fitful rest that sent him waking every other hour, motor functions forcing themselves back online out of paranoia. Despite all previously run diagnostic scans assuring him that he was in the recovery stage and stable condition, his processors still fussed like a worried mother. Insisting a case of sniffles meant there'd be a full blown pneumonia.<p>

But the one night Rodimus managed to calm his CPU just enough to earn a natural sleep, not even five minutes in stand-by was he suddenly woken.

"Rodimus."

The mech groaned, optics shifting beneath their shutters. That was Red Alert's voice—to ignore her would mean another full body scan, her less than professional concern believing he might have shut down for good. Rodimus cracked an optic just as he heard his name called again. His teammate and personal physician stood behind the thick plexi-glass wall that separated Rodimus from the outside world. She smiled, relieved to see her growing suspicions had been for naught.

"Can't a mech get some peace and quiet?" Rodimus whined, rising on his elbows. He feigned a loud yawn for emphasis. "You better not be here to poke me with more of those needlescopes."

"You have company," Red Alert replied. The mech rolled his optics; nothing new. He usually had visitors every day, wishing him a quick recovery, throwing pity parties and stuffing the crowded corners of his quarantined room with glass flower bouquets and other such warm and tender objects of affection and well-wishing. That or bothersome and nosy reporters. As he opened his mouth to speak, the doctor raised a hand and smirked, "Before you tell me to turn them away, you should at least know who your special guest is."

Rodimus laid back along his berth, folded arms beneath his head. "'Special', huh?" he sighed and stared blandly at the ceiling. "Lemme guess—Another reporter wanting to cover my 'heroic and terrifying story and miraculous recovery?'" He swished a hand. "I think I've told just about every news station that exists on Cybertron the same old spiel. If I have to repeat my story one more time, I'm going to blow a fuse and as my doctor, I think you'd want to avoid that from happening."

Red Alert sneered. "You sound perfectly healthy," she said, "back to your usual smarmy self." She shook her head. "And no, no one from the Daily Cybertron or Turbofox News." Red Alert smiled over her shoulder. "No gossip hounds; this guy's more famous, actually."

"You've snagged my curiosity," Rodimus responded, half-sarcastic.

"Then by all means, I'll show our guest in," the doctor retorted, steeping out. Rodimus closed his optics and sighed. Chances were Red Alert was exaggerating; she had a tendency to do that. But when the door hissed to an open, his eyes followed suit and Rodimus bolted to a sit immediately at the two soldiers (Elite Guard division, by the looks of them) marching inside.

They made no eye contact, simply stomped inside, turned sharply then stepped back to guard each side of the door. A third figure emerged, having to duck from his too-tall height before standing full before the thick glass wall. Magnus held his hammer in one hand, wearing a stern expression as he met Rodimus's overwhelmed face. The Prime stumbled to his feet and stood rod-straight, saluting respectively. "At ease," Magnus said and glanced back at the soldiers. He dismissed them with a nod, the door closing as soon as they departed.

It was just the two of them now.

Rodimus dropped his hand from forehead, beamed. The light grew in his azure optics as he walked toward the glass wall. "Wow, this is certainly an honor."

"I apologize for not visiting sooner," Magnus replied. A quick code typed on a nearby panel summoned a chair from the floor, metal folding out as he sat. "I had pressing duties to attend to. You understand."

"You're a Magnus," Rodimus chuckled, pulled a seat over. He sat, directly adjacent of the tall blue mech. Only a few feet of glass separated them. "I'd be shocked if you weren't constantly overworking yourself into early system failure."

Magnus leaned the hammer against the wall, hands tucked on his lap. "I heard your recovery was swifter than estimated," he conversed.

"Yeah, well, I'm not one to stay idle or down for too long," the Prime chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "Though apparently I was in a system lock down for nearly a deca-cycle. Couldn't feel a thing. Can't remember anything, either."

"They had to lock you into ice stasis," Magnus explained, "the cold temperature managed to halt the disease from spreading." His frowned tightened and only Rodimus could see the uneasiness. "There was some concern that prolonged stasis in the ice would damage your core processors, however."

"Red told me that I might have been deactivated if you hadn't approved the immediate sample study at ISA. She also said you had been out of Iacon at the time, under official, classified business," Rodimus said. He smiled gratefully. "If you hadn't taken the time out of your busy schedule, I'd have been a goner." He laughed. "I know this might sound bad, but—I honestly thought you'd give permission to allow me to stay under stasis, even if it deactivated me, so long as a cure was found." Rodimus pointed a finger. "What was it that one alien ambassador said to you? 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one'."

Magnus was not offended. "It might have been an option, sacrificing your life."

Rodimus shut his optics, smirked. "I would have understood," he said softly, "but I guess I'd know you would have prevented such a conclusion to the best of your abilities. A last resort."

The blue mech sat forward. "They tell me you are completely rid of the virus."

"Eyup." Rodimus stretched back, lounged an arm across the back of his chair. "But because of the circumstances of my disease—Space Rust, they call it—they want to keep me under surveillance for a few more orns. Just in case anything acts up that they might have missed." He laughed. "Pretty cool, though. I'm in the historical archives now. Not under the best of entries, but at least I'll be immortalized for having survived a new and commonly fatal, Decepticon engineered contagion."

Rodimus could swear he saw an amused quirk in the large Autobot's firm expression. "Red Alert stated you are no longer infectious, however," Magnus added.

"All protocol or some medbot reasoning," Rodimus sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's so slagging boring, though. You'd think at least they'd give me a viewscreen. I mean, come on! I'm a Prime!"

"You are not one for confinement."

The orange Prime snickered. "Nope," he agreed, "but..." He glanced down at his hands, turning silver palms over. "Red thinks I should stay out of the field for another deca when I'm discharged. Said the group wouldn't hold it against me, and she'll cover as commander in my place." He looked up at Magnus like a kicked puppy. "Sitting in here and twiddling my servos is one thing, but not being able to do my job... I mean, I was pretty much fresh from the Well when I first engaged in battle." He placed a hand to the flame decal spread like a phoenix across his chestplates. "Fighting is what I do."

Magnus nodded. "You are a warrior," he said, "but I hope not forever." He shut his optics. "An orn may come where we will no longer need soldiers, but Autobots—no, _Cybertronians_—designed and determined to bring our home to a state of peace as brilliant as that of the Golden Age so many vorns ago." He met the smaller 'bot's optics again. "You are stubborn, but you are flexible. It will take time before the warrior in you settles into retirement, but I've no doubt you will adjust."

"I'd like that, too, I think," Rodimus mumbled, "but I have a haunting suspicion the war won't be ending anytime soon."

"I fear the same."

Rodimus smiled lopsidedly. "As long as you're around, I think we're in good hands."

"I am only as strong as those who follow and believe in me," the elder mech stated. He glanced at his hammer. "Without support, my title would be no more than a name. No longer a rank or status of power."

"You've got me behind you, buddy," Rodimus reassured. Magnus looked back at him. "As long as I'm still functioning, I'll fight for you. _With_ you." He jabbed a thumb against his chest, grinning all pearly denta. "If I can survive Space Rust, I might as well survive someone like Megatron."

"Don't overestimate yourself, Rodimus."

"Yeah, yeah." The orange Autobot chuckled before raising a hand. Magnus watched as it pressed to the glass. "You should go. You've probably got a million and one things to do."

Magnus was silent a moment. "I do," he said. He lifted his hand, placed it on the glass—over the younger mech's. "I will return, however."

Rodimus's optics softened their hue. "To bring me home?" he asked, quietly, happily.

"To bring you home," came the stern reply.

"We shouldn't really be talking like this," Rodimus chuckled. He glanced at the camera mounted in one of the room's corners. "Don't wanna get caught, y'know."

Magnus stared firmly. "I had security shut them off. Temporarily."

The Prime snickered. "But of course."

"Our relationship is classified simply on a professional level, not for personal reasons."

"That's your way of saying you won't be embarrassed if the paps find out we're a 'thing'."

Magnus scowled.

Rodimus tapped fingers on the glass, over the larger mech's palm. "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend or make you uncomfortable."

"I am more baffled by your definition of our 'thing'," Magnus corrected. "Since we have been in a relationship for nearly two cycles, I would assume 'thing' has a deeper meaning than it would imply."

The smaller Autobot's cheeks warmed. Though Magnus was all business and no pleasure, his words felt like something dirty exchanged in a lovers' embrace. "… Y-Yeah," Rodimus whispered, scratching his hot cheekplate. "It... It is. Deeper. That is."

Magnus nodded firmly. "I must take my leave," he said, but did not go for the door. Not immediately.

Rodimus was first, followed by Magnus; the glass touched between their foreheads, hands still pressed over the other. As Rodimus's fingers began to curl, the larger mech stood and gathered his hammer. He left without another word, a smile following him to the door.

* * *

><p>His chronometer had shut itself down, alongside numerous other programs and processors. Most not of his own accord. Time had become useless, lost in a sea of numb darkness. If his CPU could process anything more than sending out vital, mandatory signals and orders when in stasis, he could venture at least more than a couple weeks. Though the initial blow had knocked most of his senses, and thankfully pain receptors, offline. It all happened in a wink of time, too slow for a second, yet also much too fast.<p>

Sleep was endless. Foreboding, perhaps. This might have been it; this might have been the end. But he'd die without processing any emotion. No time to grieve or lash out with anger and fear. He'd imagine—if he could see and feel more than the endlessness of this sleep—he'd need only open his optics and find himself in the Well of Allsparks. Forever to float with the Magnuses of the past, perhaps queued for reincarnation. It was all a matter of time now, time of which he had no concept of.

"...gnus."

Somewhere in the sea of emptiness, there was a spark of light. A blur of color that nearly bled with the rest of the damp scenery. It might have been a fluke, and so Magnus deemed it unimportant. Until it happened again—and again, and the light seemed to bright and diminish the incoherent film across his shuttered optics.

"...us! Magnus!"

More than familiar, this voice. Closer than an associate or doctor. The voice wrenched his spark and it hurt—It hurt, he noticed. Pain had been elusive, but to have it return... This could mean something wonderful, or something terrible. But the voice called him again, a streak of orange that melted into silver and blue. Someone important—He vaguely realized he was waking. His optics were actually opening.

The light from above burned, temporarily blocking out the radiant colors. A second later, neutral teal and plain white swarmed across his vision. As the seconds passed, little by little, the veil parted; he could make out shapes now. Lips moving, optics flitting, hands smoothing over his body and checking his vitals. His receptors were waking from their disabled state, one at a time; giving him enough pain and sensation he could withstand. His body felt... wrecked, though he knew he was in one piece. Even if he was being held together by something other than his infrastructure network.

"Patient is stabilized."

"So, can I talk to him now? Or are you going to try throwing me out again?"

Magnus watched the exchange. A Paradron femme and... "You still do not have clearance to be here, sir," the medic stated.

Rodimus stormed forward. "I'm a Prime, slaggit! I've every right to be here!"

"Sentinel Magnus said—"

"Sentinel is still a _Prime_, thank you. He's only temporarily covering for—Frag, if anything goes wrong, I'll—"

"Rodimus?"

The light blinded him, quick but fast and then everything was sharp. His senses were all online, olfactory picking up scents; sounds and images defined and sharp. Rodimus stumbled forward, face above his; he appeared shocked momentarily before beaming brighter than sunshine. "Magnus! Hey!" he breathed; for once, the situation and joy had left him speechless, unable to formulate all the questions pounding in his head and spark.

"Try not to exert yourself, sir," the medic insisted, touched his shoulder. "If Rodimus Prime's presence disturbs you—"

"He'll be fine," Rodimus assured, voice curt. He cast the femme a sour glare. "You can go now."

The medic snorted before gesturing the other medbots out of the room. Magnus watched as the smaller Autobot pulled up a seat beside his berth. "It—You don't know just how—how happy I—we all are at you... at you recovering." Rodimus took a deep breath, spark racing. "The docs said you... That there was a high chance that... I mean, we were thinking—"

"I was a goner?" Magnus asked.

Rodimus tittered. "Don't phrase it like that." He smiled, crooked and weary but relieved. "But... pretty much. They estimated you only had a 23% chance of surviving the entire ordeal. The operation to..." He paused to wince. "The operation was extensive. They've been working on you for maybe, Primus—four, five orns?"

"Has it only been five orns?" Magnus asked. He twitched, trying to push feeling into his stiff joints.

"No," Rodimus murmured. "Two deca-cycles." He quickly reached out a hand, placed it over Magnus's chest as the older 'bot gave a sudden struggle. "Hey, calm down! Remember what the doctor said. Don't worry—Everything's been taken care of."

"The spy... Longarm..."

"He's been apprehended," the smaller Autobot replied, smiled brightly, "alongside Megatron, in fact."

Magnus widened his optics. "Megatron has been captured as well?"

"He and a few of his subjects. Starscream's been deactivated, too."

"Was this..." The 'bot stiffened. "... Was this Sentinel's doing?"

Rodimus snorted. "Hardly," he grumbled, "remember Optimus? The Academy flunkie?" He chuckled. "Turns out he and his motley crew of oddballs saved the orn."

Magnus settled back into his berth. "Optimus..." he mumbled. He remembered the last time he spoke to the former Prime. How he had once told Optimus he did not belong with his esteemed comrades; too weak to bear the title of Prime, let alone take on someone like Megatron. He chortled internally at just how wrong he had been. "I heard... Sentinel has taken my place?"

"Not for long," the orange mech reassured, "now that you're back."

Magnus shut his optics. "I do not wish for the title's return."

Rodimus blinked, confused. "You... You don't want to take back your position?" he inquired. "But... Why?"

"After what has been done, I believe this is the opportune time for me to bow out," the larger mech retorted. He looked squarely at the Prime. "A good leader knows when he must step down. To let someone more worthy take his mantle. I helped to lead an era that is now dying. A new dawn of age requires a new and fresh mind to operate and guide it." He inhaled deeply. "My time has come, and I have accepted that."

Rodimus shook his head. "Even if you don't return to power, you can't let Sentinel run the place!" he insisted.

"Why not?"

"He's not... He's not ready. Not for this much responsibility," Rodimus explained, looking at his hands. "He... He reminds me of me, a little. Brash and bold and stubborn. And I know someone like me could never take up your title."

Magnus raised a hand, shocking the smaller 'bot before it clenched his shoulder. His optics were stern, locking him in place. "You and Sentinel are hardly alike," he stated. "Both of you are young and still maturing, but you are not him and he is not you." His hand slid down Rodimus's arm. "And if the responsibility fell upon your shoulders, Rodimus, you'd be surprised at how well you would take command and lead your people. Though you may have a hard time believing someone else's word."

Rodimus quirked a tiny grin. "I don't know if I can. Believe you, that is. You're right. But..." He rubbed the back of his helm. "If I had someone like you at my side, I think I might get by."

Magnus made a sound almost like a chuckle. "People are nothing without support, as I have always said." He let his hand rest at his side, feeling the warm berth beneath him for the first time. "This is neither here nor there—Perhaps Sentinel is not fit for leader, but until I speak with the council, you will have to bear with him."

"A few members of the council believe Optimus should take his place, but apparently, he's got his doubts just as much as I do."

Magnus hummed. "Optimus is a hero, but a hero does not necessarily a leader make," he stated. "Give him time. If you force him into leadership, then you ask for disorganization and chaos."

"You," Rodimus chuckled, shaking his head, "you just come back from lingering at edges of the Well of Allsparks, and your first concern is politics."

Magnus squinted. "It is only—"

"You're doing fine," Rodimus interjected. He pulled over one of the monitors so his commander could see his current state. "Your vitals are stable, your processors online and functioning at an optimal level, motor functions running smoothly. Your receptors are still a bit sluggish, but you should be all senses give or take another orn. Your body..." He flipped the image on the viewscreen, showing Magnus's x-ray. The state of his body, held together mostly by machines and medical tools, made him grimace. "... Your body still needs some work, but with Red Alert and Ratchet at the helm, you should come out a brand new mech with a clean bill of health."

"I am... grateful," Magnus said, staring at the foreign plates on his chassis.

"As you should be!" Rodimus smirked and pushed the monitor aside. "In any case, I've managed to keep news of your recovery out of the spotlight. You need rest, not a room full of noisy soldiers and reporters." He looked to the door. "High security, buuut, I managed to weasel my way in. Everything's hush-hush, at least until we think you're ready to face the public."

"Was Sentinel alerted of the news?"

Rodimus tittered. "Well, no..." He quickly sat forward. "But don't worry about him. Just focus on getting better. Red always says that to me—'If you think positive, your body will follow stead'. So, uh, happy thoughts and all that slag, and maybe you'll get outta here sooner."

It was in considering Rodimus's words that Magnus finally noticed. Rodimus's optics were dim, untouched dings and dents in his armor, shoulders hanging with exhaustion. "You look ill," Magnus noted.

"Oh?" The smaller 'bot rubbed his optics. "I'm just a little tired, s'all."

"When was the last time you went into stasis?" Magnus demanded. The Prime hesitated to answer. "Am I to believe that you've been neglecting yourself because of—"

"Don't say it, okay?" Rodimus grumbled, hand up. He sighed, the spoiler on his back giving a small shudder. "Look. Just... Worry about yourself. No. Wait." He scowled. "Don't 'worry', just don't concern yourself with others. We can take care of ourselves, okay? Sentinel may be a little arrogant, but we've got everything covered and under control." He thrust a thumb to his chestplate. "I'm a warrior, so I'll be fine. I've been doing what I can, filling in where needed and taking up any concerns or questions the others can't supply. So, so, you just…" He spread his hands out. "Relax, all right? Because you'll be fine. We'll be fine."

"Rodimus."

The smaller Autobot bit his glossa as Magnus placed a a large hand over his. He could feel a tremble, but it wasn't from Magnus. He just now noticed the small clattering of plating along his limbs and torso. Magnus was staring him in the optics, something firm but soothing. "W-What? What is it?" Rodimus stuttered, swallowed.

"Relax," Magnus said. It was almost an order. His fingers curled around Rodimus's hand.

Rodimus studied the hand holding his. Still too weak to squeeze. So he squeezed back, hard enough for the both of them. Magnus chuckled lowly, bringing a smile back to his worn face. "You know," Rodimus said and stood. He kept Magnus's hand, gripped tight, placed the other against the side of his helm. The older 'bot leaned into the touch with exhaustion in his pale optics. "You're not the only one in line for retirement. Megatron's just the beginning of the end, but... I'm sure one orn, I'm gonna have to settle with the life of a civilian, put the cycles of fighting and warring behind me."

"A worthy sacrifice," Magnus replied. "To settle. To find home."

Rodimus smirked. "No worries about that. Unless you're thinking of moving to Paradron and starting up an energon farm?" he laughed. "Because knowing the Paradron medics, I'd hate to see the locals' general attitude over Cybertronians on their homeworld."

"Nothing as ridiculous as that," Magnus reassured, voice gruff.

Rodimus nodded. "I should go," he said, "but I won't be long. I'll come back soon."

"To take me home?"

Rodimus bowed his head, caressed lips over Magnus's forehead. "To take you home," he agreed, and rested his head a moment to bathe in the relief and warmth.

* * *

><p>THE END<p>

UNITS OF TIME:  
>In this fic, that is.<p>

Orn = day  
>Deca-cycle = couple weeks, month<br>Cycle = year

A/N: The 'alien ambassador' Rodimus mentions is a Vulcan, of course, though you may choose either Serak or Spock. And I wrote this before Dark of the Moon came out, and the famous line was once more spoken!

As you might have noticed, my writing is a little rusty. For one, I haven't written any real TF stuff in a long while and also, I wrote this at my a relative's. I WASN'T IN MY ELEMENT, so I was uncomfortable and as such, my writing has suffered. Well, I hope you, the readers, at least enjoyed it.


End file.
